I Will Smile
by The-Despondent-Insomniac
Summary: dark-ish liley... from the very first moment she had been captivated, enslaved and spellbound and nothing would ever make her give it up. **3RD AND FINAL CHAPTER ADDED**
1. I Will Smile

**_I will Smile_**

He was staring again. Always staring. He didn't seem to have grasped the fact that she no longer wanted him, she had chosen me. Not him, me. She no longer wanted his hands; rough and demanding, nor his lips; harsh and taking. No, she wanted me: my hands; soft and giving. My mouth; gentle and loving.

She wanted me. And that is what I told myself every time. Every time I caught her staring too. I was what she wanted she said- I was enough for her. But still she stared; her eyes hungry and dark for something I couldn't give her, something I had never been able to give her and her words replayed over and over in my head as I watched them watching each other. I was enough.

I never had been though, even when we were younger and she was my world I was never hers. She captivated me, intoxicated and enslaved me even from that first charged moment when her eyes had sought and locked on mine across a grumbling old bus on the first day of school but I, I merely amused her: served my purpose in keeping her entertained and made boredom a stranger on lonely summer days. Where I worshiped she tolerated and humoured. A fair price I thought; a moment of her time in which I could pour out my adoration in exchange for the occasional smile or kind word.

Yes, the days when I was not in favour were bleak, miserable and dead but the days when she smiled for me were the happiest of my fragile existence. She would light up the world for me in those moments; the dark ever present clouds that constantly hovered over my life would lift and the sun would shine bright around us. Promises of sweetness and joy filled my mind like silent promises of Santa Claus on a snow-covered Christmas morning. It was in those moments that it seemed to me my life was worth living, as though I had a purpose. Her, she was my purpose. And If I never amounted to anything more than the sum of her happiness then I didn't care because it was worth it, _she_ was worth it.

And even as we got older and drifted apart slightly it was still those occasional coy looks across the room that got me through the days; the unexpected moments when she would show up on my doorstep silently demanding I entertain her with a tilt of her head and that damn grin of hers. It was the arch of her brow and the secret messages in her eyes I felt only I could read when she was bored and wanted to be anywhere else having fun. It was those days that I lived for, that I longed for. I craved her like an addict craves a fix. I was addicted- pure and simple and _nothing_ was going to make me give up my drug.

My parents saw it; saw my obsession with her and tried to make me give her up but I couldn't, it wasn't possible. How do you give up your life? To leave her would surely be to die. I couldn't survive without her. I wouldn't.

My mother knew she didn't love me as I did her and secretly I knew it too, but I didn't care. Why should I? All the agony and tears were worth it for one day with her. So what if every time we fought she tore my heart to shreds. I didn't care that every time she betrayed me I would cry for hours into my pillow or that whenever her words were so harsh I was sure she would leave me, I would make myself sick with worry. It was all worth it to me because eventually she would come back. She would come back to _me _and whatever I had said to make her hurt me would be forgiven; she would smile and her eyes would send the darkness that had been crushing down on me for the weeks I had been in exile into oblivion. My heart would heal and begin to sing the moment I knew she was mine again. The pulsing ever present nausea would disappear, replaced by an almost insatiable appetite to please her and ensure I was never again thrown from my devoted place by her side into purgatory because when she came back to me, it was as though sadness had never existed, I didn't know the meaning of the word, not when she was there; my whole life seemed _full, _perfectly balanced and as though pain could never reach me inside our little bubble.

I hated her at times though, even through the haze of my never ending devotion and love, I could hate her. The feeling was fleeting and agonisingly painful and it never ceased to leave me with a burning feeling of guilt at my treachery. Yet at times I revelled in it. In those moments I could scream and rage and let loose all the feelings I had to suppress in order to keep her happy. I could throw things and yell and punch a wall and vent all the self loathing I drowned in whenever I scampered back to her like a faithful dog after an argument I _know_ she only started to get a rise out of me.

But then the feeling would be gone, the guilt would make me sink to my knees and pray she never found out and the next time she called on me I would run that little bit faster because I know how she loved to run. I would try that little bit harder because I know sometimes I embarrassed her and I would hope to god that when I reached her she wouldn't cause those horrible disloyal feelings to rise up again.

I never did understand how she managed to enthral me so. It was as though I had no free will when she was around, whatever she wanted was what I wanted and whatever I wanted was inconsequential as long as what she wanted made her happy. If the guy from next door made her happy then I would be happy for her too. I never was able to be sad in her presence and If tears would pour from my eyes at night when I pictured her kissing someone else then so what, they were probably just part of a bad dream and in a week or so the nightmare would end, just like it always had before.

But the tears began to last longer as did the hatred; it grew until it possessed me for hours at a time; it made me rage and scream and cry and it _burned_. The fury of it ripped through me with such intensity I felt as though my whole body was on fire; my entire being was consumed with it; my every organ twisting and writhing while the pain of yet another betrayal forced hot pokers of agony into my heart- each more painful than the last until finally, I was left a broken sobbing mess on my bedroom floor while choked whimpers escaped my lips desperately seeking answers as to how she could despise me so much when all I had ever wanted was a small measure of her love in return for my never ending devotion. The feelings would linger too, even when I was with her I would sometimes feel the now familiar feelings of resentment and anger building in me like a volcano set to explode. Even when she grinned her toothy smirking grin at me with that playful glint in her eyes that I knew meant hours of fun and trouble and excitement I could hear the spiteful voice in the back of my mind cursing her; whispering words of hatred, hissing threats and poisons into my ear.

She would break down the barriers again though; she would smile and cajole and whisper and giggle and eventually I would grin back, my wariness would disappear and I would let her back into the heart that had been dying- and just learning to live again it whispered- without her. The fun would begin again, the secret glances and whispers, the messages in codes only we knew, the games we had created that only we knew the rules to, the competitions that she always had to win. The excitement, the exhilaration-my adoration, her amusement. The slight squabbles, the arguing, the shouting, her violence- my desperation to fix us. Her betrayal- my heartache. It would all begin again until we were back at the beginning. The hatred grew stronger, the fun and happiness shorter. The angry whispers in my ear grew louder, my sobs became screams- the anger rage, the sadness, depression.

And then it all stopped.

She changed. Became almost- but not quite- the girl I had first fallen that little bit in love with. She became gentler, calmer and more hesitant with the words she used to hurt me- as though she cared again. She associated less with those who had made her hard and cruel years before when we first started to drift apart and instead would show up on my doorstep; a soft smile- not a smirk- on her face as she asked-not demanded- if I wanted to do something with her. I truly thought I could finally be happy again, that we had found a happy medium we could rest at together for a while before moving forward with our lives; stronger and better than ever _because_ of all we had been through.

But I was wrong. It did work for a while of course. I was enough for her she said when I saw her becoming restless and craving what all those others could offer her- the ones she had betrayed me countless times for in the past- I was enough when I saw her gaze linger on the ones who stared at her like tonight. I was enough when she disappeared for days and came back slightly colder than when she left. I was enough when her words started to be thoughtless and cruel again and I was enough when she cried because I think she knew- deep inside that as messed up as I was in my devotion to her and my acceptance of her sadistic torture she was equally as twisted in her constant craving for that adoration only so she could then abuse and blacken it. She needed me as much as I needed her and as sick as it was it was what our whole relationship was based on: her needing and taking and I willingly giving because I needed the adoration too; craved it from her- she was my drug after all. And even if I rarely succeeded in my quest for her love it only made me try that little bit harder.

But as I sit here, watching her watching him I know deep down that we are never going to change. _She_ is never going to change and I don't know if I would love her in the same half crazed- half obsessed way if she did. Our relationship is twisted and sick and deep at its foundation it is poisoned; has been since the first time I forgave her and she learned to trust that I would always be there, always ready to forgive and forget and even when everyone else had left her I will still be there- arms wide open, a hundred smiles ready in acceptance of all her flaws in exchange for one of her own. Any pain and hatred I feel still lingering in my eyes ready to be quickly hidden if she should ever take the time to glance there while at the height of all her sadistic glory. I see her twitch in the seat next to me and I know that in a minute she is going to declare her need of a restroom. Moments later _he_ will rise from his seat and follow her. I won't see her for the rest of the night and tomorrow sometime she will arrive home professing her amazement at running into an old friend she hasn't seen in years. One who naturally insisted they do a late dinner and that she later crash at theirs despite her protestations.

I know the routine by heart now; we have been doing it for years- since we were children really. Only now it is for more than a spree of shoplifting or a smuggled cigarette that she leaves me for someone else. It is for a different kind of excitement and danger altogether. She lives for the excitement I think, the drama and the stories she gains every time she sneaks- not so stealthily- away for a few days. And I am her safety net, there to catch her when she falls from the high yet another seedy one night stand or illicit weekend affair has temporarily brought her. I am always there she knows; ready and willing to revel in whatever scrap she throws my way while at the same time forgiving and caring for her- my adoration never far from the surface even when I am in the depths of despair or at the height of my rage.

She expects me to be there tomorrow or the next day when she stumbles in; still half drunk and in the clothes from today spouting her story about old friends and late dinners. She expects me to be because I always have been before but this time will be different. I won't be there. I am waiting, waiting for her to rise from her chair and head for the restrooms, waiting for him to get up and follow. I am waiting for my chance to rise from my seat and walk out the door. When she stumbles home eventually she will not find me waiting there to help her from her crumpled dress and put her to bed; pretending not to see the marks on her neck. She will not find me the next morning sleeping beside her with one of my arms draped across her side. She will not find my clothes in the drawer or my mug in the cupboard. I will be gone. For the first time since we were eight years old_ I_will be the one to walk away, and this time I don't want her to come back to me.

I will cry I know it; I will curse myself and desperately want to crawl back to her and beg she forgive me. I will become depressed and angry. I will isolate myself from everyone and spend days curled in my bed remembering the good times- the perfect times when she was my saving angel and I was her unworthy subject. But eventually I will emerge from my self-imposed exile and rejoin the normal world for the first real time since I became entranced by her way back when we were just children who knew nothing of what we were to become and how tangled the bond we foolishly and unknowingly created was to grow- so much so that eventually it ensnared us- choking us slowly of life but unwilling to let go no matter the cost to both our sanities.

We were the spiders trapped in our own web, the spider as helpless as the fly it had so easily captivated so many times before; unable to find a way out no matter how hard it tried until eventually suffocation was the only escape left. I wonder sometimes who was the spider and who was the fly? Was it she? Was I the silly little fly entranced by her and drawn in never to escape or was I the spider after all? Offering a safe warm cocoon where she could hide forever, the sticky and clinging sides of the haven being what caused her to fight and wriggle and crave something with more danger than safety and warmth. Maybe we were both, each of us the others spider; drawing one another in with promises of what we secretly craved only to imprison them and make them as helpless as the unwitting fly flown straight into a trap.

Perhaps I am the lucky fly then, the one in a million that manages to wriggle free- to escape. I was able to- if not fly away from the whole sticky mess we had created then at least stumble and crawl, my wings bruised and my body scarred but eventually I will heal and I will be able to fly again. It will take time and perhaps some days I will fly a little too close to the glittering promises my past holds but never again will I allow myself to become so lost I cannot find my way back to myself.

I can only hope that one day she manages to let go of it all too. She will have forgotten me soon enough, someone else will take my place temporarily; a one night stand or a random someone who catches her eye. It is when they run out that I worry for her, when she crashes and I am not there to catch her and assure her and adore her. When she hits rock bottom is when my fears will truly start. Perhaps it is what she needs though, to hit the bottom, to see what it feels like. Perhaps once she reaches the darkest of dark places she will start to rise again, find a strength I know she has never been able to reach. Maybe one day she can become that girl I fell in love with again.

And If not then I'm sure somehow I'll be somewhere nearby ready to drag her back to the surface and force life into her lungs just as I did when we were ten and she was drowning at the local pool. But only for a little while. I can't be her safety net anymore, just as she can't be my angel. Those roles were killing us. slowly but steadily. As a strangling weed does a beautiful flower, they had begun to choke the life and love from our once pure relationship, leaving us desperate gasping wrecks of the people we had once been. I had found my strength. It was time for her to find hers and maybe, just maybe one day we could start again.

**dont own it, never have never will :(**

**re-done YET AGAIN, but this time only the grammar and punctuation has been changed. thankfully my english teacher DIDNT hate it and ive passed the class :D**

**hope you all enjoy this fic even if it is a little dark....its based off of my actual life so thats why.....thanks loads to everyone who has reviewed, it means so much to me. And lexi, i hope you like this ending better than the original :)**

**xoxox**

**Becca**


	2. Remembrance

**hey guys, i know some of you wanted this fic made longer and although i was reluctant to do so i have given in and written a new chapter. i apologise in advance for this chapter as it is not nearly as well structured as the previous one was, nor is the grammar and spelling anywhere near as good. also this chapter may come across drier than the last considering there is not nearly as much personal emotion in it due to the fact the first chapter was based on real life and this one is merely set around my thoughts of what could happen if i ever met _her _again and what my response would be. obviously this story is not what i expect to actually happen but im sure you get the gist of what i mean. anyway. to those who wanted this story made longer i hope you like it and there will hopefully be another/final chapter added soon. i feel the story is awaiting a conclusion, both here and in real life so when it happens it will be written down. to any new readers; i also hope youll enjoy this and arent too spooked by the slightly twisted natre of this fic. the all; ENJOY and if you have time please leave your thoughts. they really do mean so so much to me.**

**thank you all for reading**

**Rebecca/Becca**

**Remembrance**

I saw her today for the first time in seven years, and just like I knew she would she looked _good_. It was like a punch in the gut seeing her again; seven years and she still made me catch my breath. There was no possible wat that she recognised me though as I am vastly changed from how she once knew me. I'm thankful for that at least. If she had known me she never would have looked at me with those eyes of hers; the ones that seemed to burn right into me as she slipped passed me-sending a coy knowing little smirk over her shoulder as she went- my eyes following her every move. She never would have flitted around me as I worked for nearly an hour letting me just breathe her in again, re-acquainting myself with her still achingly familiar scent. And she never would have left me her number when she went; sliding it into my hand as she danced her way out of my little shop- turning several heads as she went. She paused briefly to wink at the delivery boy on the way out, leaving him drooling before she casually hopped into some expensive looking car waiting for her outside. With a guy inside. Leaving me dazed and staring after her from the doorway- confused as hell but still desperately trying to remember every last detail of her visit.

I had forgotten just how intoxicating she can be, how she can make my knees quiver and my hands shake, how she can make my whole body turn to jelly with just one teasing little smile. God help me.

I don't doubt that she's doing well for herself; I always knew that somehow she'd eventually end up on her feet, if for no other reason than because of her father dragging her back to them. I couldn't help but drink in the sight of her though, even as she pranced around; flirting with anything that moved just like she always had but somehow still managing to pull of that charm and innocence that had always captivated me and make her seem enchanting rather than easy.

Watching the car disappear I expected that familiar blinding pain to cut through my chest at the sight of her leaving me and was surprised when it was more the feeling of someone sharply and tightly pinching my heart rather than the gut wrenching agony I used to feel even when in her mere presence. I waited to feel the familiar tidal wave of jealousy and insecurity threaten to swamp me as I recalled watching her blatantly trying to draw attention to herself, however I found even that had lessened. I was instead only met with a gentle lapping of the long remembered feelings at the edges of my consciousness and a slightly bitter sense of déjà vu.

I wondered briefly if that was how she had acted when we were together but quickly dismissed the though. I knew for a fact that she had been a hundred times worse. At least she had left her current shmuck waiting for her in the car instead of bringing him inside and subjecting him to it full on. She had never done that with me, with me it had been right in my face the whole time; I simply chose not to see it for the most part. I guess I should feel sorry for whoever she has playing perfect-pairs with at the moment but I cannot. Because in small some way I envy him.

Despite knowing everything I do now and the time that has passed I still sometimes look back on it all and wish I could re-do it. Despite the pain and the heartbreak, the lies and the tears, sometimes- every once in a melancholic while I slip back into the earlier days; not just of our relationship, but of our friendship too and I remember:

I remember how we used to laugh for hours on end, how I would do something ridiculously silly and she would laugh about it for months to come. Sometimes it could be something as simple as making an awkward face- one she would then request I make again and again; each time making herself convulse with the force of her laughter. Other times it could be something equally as silly; a phrase, a made up word, the way I itched my nose (something I had unconsciously picked up from her) sometimes it was something slightly more embarrassing like making an inappropriate comment at the dinner table- I would be left red faced for hours but the sight of her amusement was enough for me to play it off and grin at up at her father sheepishly before jokingly glaring at her only to receive a cheeky grin in response.

Then there were the times where **I **was the one unable to stop laughing: Like at our first figure skating lesson together.

She was hopeless. I remember how amazed I was that there was _anything_ she couldn't do perfectly but there she was, bumbling about like a new born duckling unable to gain her balance while _I, _for the first time ever was the one receiving all the praise. Able to do the assigned move in moments and trying to help her master it I recall watching her totter around the edge of the rink gripping the side with one hand while tentatively lifting her leg backwards and trying to balance as I spun around further out demonstrating the ease of the arabesque style move. Half an hour later and she was finally moving slowly off the rail still practicing the move when I began to slide towards her; trying to entice her into a game of ice tag as she stumbled towards me.

Deciding to help her out I offered my hand and we skated slowly in circles for a few moments while she gained some balance. It was when she raised her head from watching her feet and smiled at me that it happened: she was re-adjusting her feet, leaning into me slightly- still smiling that million volt smile that I loved; all big brown shining eyes and perfect pearly while teeth, her too-long-but-just-perfect-for-her fringe falling in her eyes as she grinned up at me and I smiled adoringly back- when suddenly her feet began to slip.

Her eyes went wide and her hands instinctively gripped at mine as mine did hers but we were too slow; she ended up sprawled across the ice, her black trousers clinging to her and flecked with sprayed up chips of white snow, her pink hat a good few feet away- one glove lying near it- her hair whipped across her face and the most delicate display of outrage on her face I had ever seen. I couldn't help it. I began to laugh; snorting, choking splutters of laughter as she simply lay there staring at me in shock, her eyes flown wide and her face flushed from the cold.

I continued to laugh- unable to stop myself- even as I began to move forwards to help her. I leaned down slightly and offered her my hand managing to stop laughing long enough to grab the one she held up weakly in response. It was as I began to pull her up though that my own flimsy skates began to slide warningly across the glassy surface; I watched her slide slowly back down- why she didn't try to help herself I don't know- still holding my hand as she went and felt myself begin to topple forward as well.

Noticing I was about to land on her I quickly twisted to the side even as I felt the ice loom beneath me. Landing with a sharp 'crack' I quickly glanced over at her- checking frantically to see if she was okay and as soon as I was satisfied I had not hurt her promptly burst out laughing again. I could feel the water seeping into my trousers that matched hers, could feel the bruises forming from such an awkward landing and yet I couldn't help but laugh once again as I looked at her. She was sitting up this time, her hair still tossed around her shoulders but she was watching me lying next to her with such a look of confusion, shock and a hint of annoyance at still being on the frozen floor that I was unable not to laugh. I propped myself up on one (sore) elbow and just watched her (still giggling) for a moment, seeing her trying to contain her laughter as well until eventually she cracked and we both fell back onto the cold, wet ice- my arm thrown over her waist pulling her into me slightly and her hands clutching tightly to my arms while she shook with laughter.

We finally managed to calm down enough to wetly crawl the few short feet to the protective barrier surrounding the rink and stumblingly pull ourselves up it until we were once again standing shakily upright. Breathing deeply for a moment to catch my breath I risked a glance to the side and caught her eye as she did the same. And that was it. We spent the rest of the lesson in hysterics; giggling and laughing and chasing each other around the rink- grabbing the other swiftly (me grabbing her) if there was even a chance they were going to fall.

Best friends till then end was how it seemed that day. Maybe that was all we ever should have been, but I guess I got too greedy and thought I had the right to want more. I should have known better than to try and capture a phoenix I suppose but the thrill of her mere presence was enough for me to want to keep her close forever and never let go. the safety, warmth, excitement, exhilaration, danger and just plain love that she inspired when I was with her was enough to make even the most selfless of people fight like starving dogs for even the most simple of glances from her.

Perhaps I should call her. The chance to be around her again, to observe her, communicate with her, reacquaint myself with all the tiny details about her that have somehow managed to slip away from me over the years. It would be amazing I know, to get to know her again. As me this time. Me as I am now, not the me-and-her entity that I have been for as long as I can remember. Perhaps that is why she didn't recognise me. I am no longer her and as such she knows nothing about me now. I am to her as untouched, unknown and unrecognisable as a stranger on the street. I doubt she would even know me if I told her my name- showed her pictures of my family or related the most personal facts of my life to her. I am no longer a being entirely devoted to her so I am no longer consciously noticed. Maybe that is a good thing, if the one person I had given my whole self over to no longer knew me then maybe I am no longer that person, maybe I am someone entirely new, or maybe I have finally returned to the person I once was before I became ensnared in the mess we created about us in our foolishly trusting and ignorant youth and I should rejoice in that fact and stay far away from the one person who had the power to re-crumble my heart and turn me back into the slave I had once been.

But still, the pull to see her again is so strong it is almost if I can taste it; it fills the air around me as I work, clogs my senses until the only thing I can think of is her. I don't like it. I despise this feeling of powerlessness even as I begin to surrender to it. It is almost like falling asleep- re-entering a pleasant dreamland I never thought I would visit again, but all the same I hate it; the loss of control, the helplessness, the wanting, the begging, the pleading, the heartache. I hate it all and I know if I make that one little phone call I will be trapped. Once again spun back into that vicious dance that we called life for so long. But the want is so strong. It calls to me, draws me towards the phone- entices me with happy memories and promises of long remembered joy: The sweetness of those first years- the happiness and warmth, the playfulness and freedom. The lightness that consumed my days and filled my nights with happy sighs and dreams of the morrow.

I close my eyes now and I remember. I remember everything: from those first two days of shy little girl glances to the first time we kissed. From the moment she popped up in front of me during break and announced her name to the first time she chose someone else over me. From the day she chose me to the day I left. I remembered everything. I remembered the first time she slept over and the first birthday present she gave me. I remembered Christmases spent with her and unexpected gifts. I remembered furious fights and wary apologies, dreamy days and calm peaceful nights. I remembered agonised screams and burning tears. I remembered pain, and I remembered joy. I remembered the first moment I _knew_ I was **in** love with her and the first time she broke my heart. I remembered the first time she kissed me back and the first time I forgave her. I remembered it all, and I reached for the phone. I had to know, even if it killed me.


	3. Decisions

**hey guys, here's the last part of "I Will Smile" i really hope you all like it and thank you everyone so much for all the amazing reviews. This story is dedicated to two people, first of all to the girl who broke my heart but also gave me some of the best days of my life. _Pheonah_. i love you Phee, always have always will no matter what. and secondly to "_stupid lollies_" you have been absolutely amazing in supporting me with this fic...and yelling at me about my others lol and making me laugh. thank you so much.**

**To all my reviewers for this fic and those who added me to their alerts/favourites thank you, you guys are the best. ****i hope everyone enjoys this last part of the story and will send me their final thoughts on it**

**xoxox**

**Rebecca/Becca**

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I reached for the phone. I had to know, even if it killed me...

**Decisions**

My hand wavered. Did I really want to do this? Do I want to risk stepping back into the life- the mask that it had taken me nearly a decade to shrug off? Do I want to go back to my role of constant appeasement, glorification and insecurity? Do I want to risk my very sense of _self _just to see her again: to touch her, breathe her and talk to her? I want to know her again? I do. But is it worth it? Is it worth bringing back all the pain and heartache and sorrow just for a miniscule chance that we can re-build what we once had? I don't know. Should I do it or should I be content with what I have now: my steady calm life- no screaming, no agonising betrayals, and no loss... But no passion either; no excitement- no overwhelmingly sensational joy.

I don't know. Is it worth it?

I pick up the phone and dial her number. It rings. She answers. I freeze.

How do I decide? She has thrown herself back into my life- unknowing and uncaring as always but I, I am the one left with the decision to make. To go back to her would be sensational I know. There would be fireworks and explosions and screams and laughter. There would be happiness and joy and contentment and fun. But then there would be suspicion, there would be yelling and screaming and fighting and that constant wariness that lifts the hairs along my arms when I _know_ there is something she's hiding from me. I don't know if I can go back to that, don't know if I should.

Maybe I am being selfish, perhaps the decision is no longer even mine. Perhaps it is hers now and has been since I walked out the door and left her alone. But don't I have a say as well? Then again it has always been done her way, no matter what I have wanted eventually everything has been done the way she demands. Is this one of those times? Am I simply doing as I have always done by calling her- am I conforming as usual to her wants? Does that mean I have no decision to make? Because despite what I may choose either way the outcome will eventually be the one she decides. Does that mean she does want me or that she doesn't?

Perhaps I should leave it alone, hang up the phone right now and never think on any of it ever again: not the past and our glorious first days, not the present with its unbearable decisions and certainly not the future because then I am sure to go mad with the possibilities and the realisation of shattered dreams. The past was once the present after all. I thought it would never end and the happiness would be as eternal as she seemed to be. The present was once the future and my dreams of it were certainly not how it has turned out in reality; it was once filled with hope and plans and families and _her_. It is nothing like that now. And this future? Well it was an indecipherable blur on the vast horizon of adulthood- too distant and unacknowledged to ever think of. The only certainty of it that we would be together always.

The sound of her voice washes over the line, slightly annoyed and with an indecipherable twang to it –one I recognise but can't quite place. My heart starts beating faster and my mind begins to race. The pull to know every tiny thing about her comes again. I grip the phone tightly until my knuckles turn white and the bone is visible. Her voice comes again; I shiver and slam down the phone.

God what am I doing? I have no control anymore, she is in my mind again, returned to my heart. I sit and simply stare at the wall for how long I do not know. Thoughts of her consume my mind and I cannot think straight. This was never meant to happen. She was meant to stay away - not jump back into my life so unexpectedly. With a little warning then maybe, maybe I would have been prepared; I could have acted smooth and aloof, uncaring and gracious. We could have done coffee, reminisced about our childhood and tactfully refrained from any mention of what came later. Perhaps she would even have brought someone- a boyfriend. I would artfully mention my little business and complain lightly about the customers and she would have mentioned her family- talked about how well her brother (who I had never liked) was doing as a lawyer and how her father (who had always secretly scared me)'s company was thriving. We would have said our goodbyes, perhaps even hugged cautiously and we would have parted with a smile, her going off to live a perfect life- maybe even get married and me returning home to my tasteful apartment where I would contemplate for a while and then smilingly head to bed. All my demons put to rest and ready to go on with my life in perfect carefree bliss.

This however was not what I had wanted, this was confusing and unexpected. This was not carefree coffee with gentle recriminations and apologies. It was painful and scary and I didn't want any of it. Why? Why did she have to come barging back into my life? Why now! I have a life, a good one. Yes, sometimes it is lonely and occasionally I wonder how it would feel to have a warm body next to mine again every night, but it is mine. **Mine **and she has no right to barge back into it and cause all the turmoil from the past to come crashing back down upon me. It isn't fair, and it isn't right and the most ridiculous thing about it all is that she is totally unaware of it all. She always has been. Even days before I finally left she didn't have a clue.

A few weeks before I left her I received a job offer and she suspiciously asked me if I was planning on accepting it. I told her yes, and when she asked why I replied bitterly "to get far away from bitches like you" she was shocked by my response I know- it was one of my bolder moments- and I could see the hurt in her eyes. I could also see she was getting ready to yell at me and start another fight so I quickly laughed and told her I was only joking, that it was just a joke. Cowardly I know but still... it was the hurt in her eyes that did it though, not the anger. The anger and yelling I could handle- it would actually have been the perfect excuse to leave, to say sayonara and walk away... but I couldn't bear to see her in pain- to see it flash through her eyes and cause her to twitch very slightly. I couldn't stand to see her in even a fraction of the torment I went through daily and so I pretended I was merely teasing her- let her think I would never dream of saying such words to her if I was being serious and then we continued on.

It became a running joke, whenever I had to go somewhere she would inquire why and I would respond with the same answer. She would grin and I would leave for a few hours and then come back. On that final night I said it as well; she asked me where I was going when I was leaving to fetch my dress from the dry-cleaners and I dramatically told her I was leaving her. She looked momentarily worried but then smirkingly asked me why. We both laughingly responded in synch "to get away from bitches like you/me" I kissed her quickly and still laughing grabbed my keys and left. It was one of our good days; one where we were silly and had fun and for once weren't tense, waiting for yet another argument to erupt. It was one of the days where the old her shone through and I loved her with a lightness that I rarely felt in those days. But then we went out to dinner that night and suddenly she was back to being cold and slutty and taunting, she was flirting and bitching and I just couldn't take it anymore. The last straw was when she left with him, another one of her conquests. I accepted the job offer early the next day, went home that night like I promised myself I would, packed my things and left. And that was it. We were done. A lifetime thrown away in an evening. And through it all she never knew how hard it was for me; she never saw the pain I was in- never saw what she was doing to me and I guess I never really let her, I didn't want to hurt her and so I buried all my own agony. Perhaps I should have let her catch a glimpse occasionally, maybe then she would have understood better and I wouldn't have had to leave. The blame is on us both I suppose but I needed to keep her happy- she was free that way, free to be who she was and free to be magical- for both of us, I needed the magic she created just as much as she did, we both craved the fairytale world we had been told about as children, the perfect world where nothing bad or evil could ever exist. The world that could never be reality.

But now, now she is pushing me again, closer and closer to the edge of insanity and this time I don't think I have the strength to crawl back from it. And once again she has no idea. Hell, she doesn't even know who I AM this time and yet she still manages to send my thoughts spinning and my heart racing, forces me to clutch my sanity as close as I possibly can and simply pray that it doesn't escape my grasp. Perhaps it has already slipped, maybe that is why I am once again dialling her number and counting the rings until she picks up. There are six. She says hello. I freeze. My heat races, my breath catches in my throat and again she says hello- a hint of impatience in her voice this time. I shudder slightly and draw in a breath.

It's now or never, I have to decide. Do I want to know her, do I want the pain. Do I want to give her the chance to hurt me again or do I want to turn away, leave it all fully behind, and close the door on that chapter of my life forever. This is my one chance to reclaim all that I gave up so many years ago, it is possibly the only opportunity I will ever have to reconcile my past and my present so that I can move on to create my own future and I have to decide if I want it or not, If it's worth it.

"I'm sorry" I whisper down the phone line to where the girl I once loved with my entire being stands impatiently listening and I truly am. If I hurt her when I left with no warning then I am sorry, if I ever fell short of what she needed then I am sorry and if I ever caused her pain then I am sorry. But I am also done. I have a life now, a life that has nothing to do with her; I have friends who love me, I have my family who have always stood by me and I have my memories which I will always cherish- but I can't go back. I won't. My life is my own now. I am me, not me-and-her. Just me and it is time that I was happy with that.

I will always be there if she ever needs me but I know now she never will. And I will never turn her away if she seeks me out but I have to find my own way now, I have lived the last seven years desperately trying to move on and while it is true that I have partially succeeded my every thought has still revolved around her, my every decision and my every move. It is time I found out who I am again. I have been wrapped up in "us" for so long that I have lost that person who was once just "me" to the fog of my memories. It is time to dig her out I think. Time to move on and finally move away from everything that has gone before. I love her still yes, but I am no longer willing to be a slave to that love. I have made my decision. It is time to say goodbye.

"Wrong number" I say gently into the phone and place it back on the cradle...but not before I hear her voice call out my name. She knows me. But I have already said goodbye it is too late for her to drag me back to her now. I am moving on and for the first time in god-knows how many years I feel free, light and able to handle my life on my own without her. She was my saviour once, she drew me away from my misery and gave me life again but now I have to take that life and live it. I have paid her whatever debt I ever owed her back ten-fold with my devotion and my heartache and I only hope that is enough for her. I hope she is happy and I hope she can find peace with herself eventually. I know she doesn't need to move on or get over me; I was always the one who was hooked, never her. But still, I will always love her and I wish her happiness. I am simply no longer willing to give up my own life to help her achieve that happiness. Perhaps I am being selfish and perhaps I am being ungrateful but for the first time in a long time I am thinking of myself first and I am going for what _I _want in life.

And when she comes back to my little shop tomorrow to collect her flowers she will find a pleasant shop girl who (if she really thinks about it- which she won't ) slightly resembles her old lover but who's hair is darker and who's eyes are lighter. The shop girl will smile lightly at her in a way that is alike to how her old lover used to as she wishes her a good day and hands her a complimentary lily. And when she is gone the shop girl will smile. I will smile. Because I survived and I am free.


End file.
